


It All Started With a Duke

by Ray_Writes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Writes/pseuds/Ray_Writes
Summary: Sparks fly when Donna tries once again to pick up a suitor on their travels.





	It All Started With a Duke

**Author's Note:**

> So I was scrolling through my tumblr dash this morning and came upon a user named fangjy's comment on [thegingergoddess' wonderful gifset](https://thegingergoddess.tumblr.com/post/168424803832/notmarried), and the idea wouldn't let me go so I had to write something. If anybody knows if fangjy has an AO3 account (or if you are indeed fangjy who is reading this), let me know so I can gift this to them!

They’d only been on the  _ Traverser _ a little over an hour before Donna spoke the dreaded words, “Oh, he’s nice.”

The Doctor tried his best to suppress the heavy sigh that threatened and took another sip of the cocktail he’d snatched off a passing waiter’s tray. “Who is?”

If a lovely night out with Donna was about to be ruined by some muscle-bound brainless beau, he might as well find out which one was ruining it.

She nodded over her own glass which he’d gotten for her at the typical sort of specimen for these things. Some 29th century duke who was already surrounded by a gaggle of ladies and some who identified as neither lady nor gentleman. He had dark hair and perfectly straight teeth, the Doctor supposed, and was already no good for Donna. He didn’t need a second look to know that.

Why did she always go after these types? They weren’t smart or kind or brilliant like she was, and they certainly wouldn’t notice those qualities in her. No, all they were interested in was her physical beauty, and tonight, with her hair cascading in ginger waves past her shoulders and her rather ample assets fit snugly into a deep blue gown — TARDIS blue,  _ his _ blue — there was a high chance indeed a fellow might do more than notice. The very idea made his stomach churn.

He only just managed to tear his own gaze away when Donna glanced to the side at him. “You think he’s single? Or did he leave the wife at home?”

“One can only hope,” he muttered under his breath. Donna didn’t appear to hear him.

She placed her drink on the little table that stood against one of the ship’s support beams, which had been done up like a Roman column, and he did likewise. “I think I’ll see if he wants to dance. Women can ask in the 29th century, right? It only took us twenty to get the vote.”

Before he could think better of it, the Doctor reached for her arm and shifted between her and her quarry. “Donna, don’t. Just don’t.”

She didn’t shove him away or bark a warning about hands, but she did raise her chin in defiance. “And why not?”

He hadn’t expected a pushback. He should have expected it; this was Donna. But he couldn’t very well tell her that it was because he couldn’t stand the idea of her using her charms on some other man. 

The Doctor floundered for a moment. “Er, well, because—”

“Wait, better question — what are you gonna do to stop me?”

She hadn’t lost that smoldering look, only now it was directed at him. The Doctor licked at his suddenly dry lips, which did not go unnoticed by Donna. Her own lips curved up into the slightest smirk, and he could read the challenge in her eyes:  _ Go on, Spaceman. _

It was as if something snapped. All of his carefully constructed arguments about not interfering with the timelines or how there was an — admittedly small — chance that interacting with the future in such a way could have catastrophic consequences on the universe itself were forgotten, and all that mattered was the pool of longing and desire that stirred inside him whenever he so much as  _ thought _ of Donna had reached a boiling point.

His other hand rose to cup the back of her head, fingers fanning through that glorious hair as he sealed his mouth over hers. Donna went willingly, or perhaps it was the surprise that had her pliant in his hold as he spun them around to the other side of the pillar and crowded her up against it. He didn’t want an audience; this was their moment and theirs alone, at least until Donna came to her senses and no doubt slapped him silly for this serious violation of their ‘just mates’ agreement.

She’d gasped as her back hit the pillar, though he’d made sure to keep cradling her head to avoid any injury, and her open mouth was too delicious a temptation to resist. His tongue swept over her full bottom lip, and at last Donna’s arms raised — only for one to wrap around his back and the other to bury her hand in his hair, urging him on.

This couldn’t be real, the Doctor thought deliriously. It was the drink or an invention of his mind. He had to be lightheaded, and indeed he was breathing rather harshly through his nose as, not to be outdone, Donna had brought her own tongue into play. He could detect the lime that had been in her cocktail and the slight burn of alcohol that danced along his taste buds as well as something difficult to define. The Doctor didn’t want to stop until he could, and maybe not even then.

His hand had slid from her arm to her waist and finally to her hip, the material of her dress silky under his touch. She hooked a leg around one of his own, drawing him closer. His hips were pushed into hers, producing a low moan from the back of her throat that made his toes curl inside his trainers. He could feel the swell of her breasts pressed against his chest, and if he’d looked down would’ve been granted a view the likes of which no wonder in the universe could top.

The Doctor had truthfully been clocking overtime as far as lip-locking went compared to previous regenerations, but he couldn’t remember a kiss quite like this. So immediate, so synchronous, so consuming. She drove him mad, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Sir! Madame! I must insist you stop!”

Donna and the Doctor broke apart with identical gasps to find a rather harried android in a waitstaff uniform standing a few feet to the side. Some of the other passengers on the starship had wandered over to peer at them as well, including the duke who had started this whole chain of events.

The Doctor shifted to shield Donna as best he could while her chest heaved with the breath she was trying to get back. He was panting as well, though not as badly having a better capacity for storing air than most humans. “Er, sorry about that.”

“Such behavior is most unbecoming of our clientele and the dignified atmosphere we strive to maintain.”

“Dignified, that’s definitely us,” Donna remarked, despite the Doctor’s efforts to shush her.

“I must ask for you and your wife’s identification.”

“Iden- identification?” The Doctor patted himself down, trying to recall where he’d stuck the psychic paper. “Let’s see. Um.”

It turned out that getting caught in a rather passionate display of public affection and not really having the presence of mind to handle sudden inquiries into the nature of whether or not tickets were actually in his possession made it rather difficult not to be labeled a stowaway. The Doctor and Donna were led out of the spacious ballroom to much scandalized murmuring from the other passengers.

Seeing as the purpose of the  _ Traverser  _ was for cruising the galaxies, there were no cells on board. It was determined, therefore, that they would remain in the cargo hold until the ship docked next. Fortunately, the cargo hold was precisely where they’d parked the TARDIS.

“Well, it was getting late anyway,” the Doctor said with a breezy sort of tone as he held the door open for Donna. “And the hors d'oeuvres weren’t very good.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

In the relative quiet of the console room, it was very hard to look at each other.

“You, er, you didn’t…”

Donna looked up from studying the controls. “Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t correct the waiter. When he said we were married.”

It was a less direct way of asking, of trying to figure out what she was thinking about the kiss.

“Neither did you.”

Oh. “Right.”

The Doctor busied himself with piloting, taking them into the Vortex and trying to ignore how hyper aware he was of Donna slowly walking around the console ever closer.

“So! Where to next?” Perhaps simply going along like usual was the best course of action. They could pretend it had never happened, just like the detox kiss and their not-date at the antigravity restaurant and Donna calling him pretty that one time.

Only when he turned to face her, he found Donna to be extremely close so that she only had to lift her hands to place them on his chest. The Doctor drew in a breath and tried otherwise not to move a muscle.

But then, Donna took a step forward, which forced him to step back. She did it again and again, never taking her eyes off his, until his back thumped against one of the coral struts.

“I’m thinking about here’s good.”

“Is it?” He squeaked.

Donna took one last step, and he finally did get that very nice view as the gap between their bodies evaporated into nothing. She’d worn a rather low heel and so curled her fingers into his lapels to drag herself up to his height. The Doctor swallowed once. “My turn, Time Boy.”

Well, the Doctor supposed as he found his mouth reengaged, as long as they were keeping things equitable between them, that had to be alright. A lovely night, indeed.


End file.
